


-H2O°C

by Happyellar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, F/F, F/M, Ice Cream Parlors, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:57:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happyellar/pseuds/Happyellar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson recently invalided back from Afghanistan resumes his culinary career at St. Bart's, an East London restaurant. But with an ice cream seller on his tails, Chef Watson might gain interest in being a chef in a busy restaurant again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An alternative to ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captain-jhwatson](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=captain-jhwatson).



“Okay so this is the best ice cream place in London?”

“The best.”

“Even in January?"

“Even in January.”

John half laughed whilst Mike snorted amusedly at him and continued walking through Regent’s Park. John hobbled next to him, burdened with the cane he had grown to hate.

“I wouldn’t take you for an ice cream kind of man, Mike” retorted John. Mike spluttered and had to stop walking.

“John, l got fat” Mike replied with a grin, “Being a Saucier, and friends with people in the food industry can put on the pounds surprisingly quickly”. John half grinned in reply.

Mike was the Saucier at St. Bartholomew’s, a bustling restaurant in East London based in an old hospital, and had been working there for years, amongst the staff changes. “I heard you were abroad, catering to the masses, trying not to get shot at

“Well, I got shot at” Mike looked at him pitying.

“Speaking of which, what made you come back to Barts? Just staying till you get yourself sorted?”

“I didn’t have much choice. No restaurant in London can afford to employ a crippled Sous, Mike” John replied with a grimace, tapping his cane on the ground with frustration.

“Lestrade was hoping you’d come back” replied Mike. John snorted and the two carried on walking in silence.

The two walked down Baker Street, and stood in front of a shop amongst lines of houses.

“-H2O°C?” John questioned, grinning slightly as he leant heavily on his cane.

“Sherlock is a chemistry whiz.” Mike replied, as he entered the shop. The shop was relatively quiet with only a few customers clustered around tables. The shop was small, dominated by the ice cream counter. One worker was standing over the prep desk, talking to the other

“How fresh?” the standing worker asked, shirt sleeves rolled up and wearing a spotless black apron.

“Arrived this morning” replied the other, her cardigan arms were covered in ice cream stains and her hair was falling into her eyes. The man nodded, mumbled to himself and ducked into the back room. The girl continued to studiously chop strawberries when Mike coughed pointedly. The girl jumped.

“Mike! Hello!” She replied, whilst concentratedly chopping the fruit. John unconsciously tapped his cane out of habit and made Molly looked up.

“Molly, I was just showing John my usual spot”

“Ooh, do you work at Barts as well?” She asked excitedly, but then she noticed John’s cane and couldn’t help but grimace.

“Yes actually, Sous”. John replied pointedly; he was used to the grimaces.

“I’ll have to go by soon then, always nice to meet new chefs” smiled Molly. John smiled back weakly. The man came back from the back room holding a tub of ice cream with an obscured label.

“Mike, can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine” remarked the man, as he heavily put down the tub and took the strawberries from Molly and tipped them into a large dish.

“What’s wrong with your landline?” replied Mike.

“I prefer to text”

“Sherlock, You could use mine?” offered Molly, producing a cat-covered phone case. Sherlock grimaced.

“No.”

“Sorry, its in my whites” Mike replied, shrugging. John was listening to the conversation, and produced a battered smartphone from his jacket pocket.

“Here. use mine” he said, offering the phone over the counter.

“Oh, thanks” replied Sherlock, stripping off his gloves and taking the phone from him. Sherlock glanced at Mike and started to text rapidly.

“This is John Watson” informed Mike to Sherlock, who looked like he was only partially listening as he finished tapping.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock asked as he returned the phone back to John and snapped on a fresh pair of gloves. John frowned.

“Afghanistan, I'm sorry, what?” John looked at Mike who was smirking knowingly, Molly’s eyes had bulged slightly. Sherlock had noticed some customers walk in and went over to greet them. One of the customers made to ask something but Sherlock stopped them immediately.

“No you are not going to ask for vanilla because we don’t serve it, and you obviously don’t want it so please do me a favour and not bother” Sherlock snapped. The interrogated customer laughed nervously. Molly tutted at him.

“Don’t mind him” She replied sweetly, Sherlock groaned.

“Molly, don’t belittle the customers, and stop trying to sell them things they don’t want” Sherlock sighed. “Here, you want this” as he produced a tub of rich, lilac coloured ice cream. The customers, to John’s surprise, agreed whilst Molly took over to dish the ice cream. Sherlock walked back over towards John and Mike and leant against the counter.

“Its an alternative to ice, if you hadn’t come to the conclusion yet” Sherlock drawled, looking unamused.

“What does?” John countered, looking irritated.

“The sign, -H2O°C, do you not know basic chemistry”

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" John pressed. Sherlock looks at him closely before speaking.

“I know you’re a chef, and that you’ve been recently invalided home from Afghanistan and re-taken a job at Bart’s. I know you’ve got brother in the same industry, who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help, possibly because he drinks on the job, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. I know your therapist thinks your leg is psychosomatic, quite correctly I’m afraid. And I know you disapprove of this establishment because you don’t understand the purpose of frivolity. That’s enough to be going in with, don't you think?”  
John stood in utter shock, as Sherlock walked away with a slightly smirk, back into the back room whilst putting on lab goggles. But he stopped and turned back towards Molly.

“Molly, John will have the ‘favum vanilla’ and Mike ‘scelerisque java’, afternoon” winking at John as he left the room as quickly as he entered. John looked at Mike who only shrugged.

“Yeah, he’s always like that”.  
-  
John and Mike walked away from the shop, licking cones of honeycomb and coffee ice cream.

“You’re bloody right” John quirked, a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

“About what?” Mike asked, as he wiped his hands.

“This is the best ice cream place in London” John replied, grudgingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a general note for the whole series. This AU is my little baby, and you may recognise lines of speech or themes from Pixar's Ratatouille and similar speech patterns from BBC A Study In pink. I'm not a writer, and I'm only just finding my way into this fic so I appreciate your willing to like it and hang on with me!


	2. Freak à la glace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson recently invalided back from Afghanistan resumes his culinary career at St. Bart's, an East London restaurant. But with an ice cream seller on his tails, Chef Watson might gain interest in being a chef in a busy restaurant again.

“Oi Watson, where the bloody hell are all the mallets?”

“John, table 3 is missing a dish, what happened there?”

“Chef, how do you prep this garnish?”

Life in a restaurant was definitely different from the base camp canteens. John was exhausted, and the lunch rush had only just finished. John lived for the kitchen, the heated madness of raised voices and burning steam soothed the growing boredom inside him. Once the restaurant was closed he would go home and sit. You can’t live whilst sitting.  
John was checking produce numbers in the food storage when the door was ripped open and none other than Sherlock waltzes in carrying 3 towering tubs of ice cream.  
“Hello again John” John whips around, dropping the list he was carrying.

“Sherlock what the actual fuck!” cursed John as he bent down to retrieve the book. Sherlock smirked at the curse and slammed the temporary freezer door shut.

“I supply ice cream, Barts supply experiment space” Sherlock explained, leaning against the freezer.

“Wait experiment space?” John started to ask, but he was interrupted as someone roughly opened the store door.

“Sherlock you can’t just barge into here whenever you feel like it” Sherlock had an innocent expression as Lestrade tried to glare at him, but failed and looked tiredly exasperated.

“John you don’t have to be back till dinner service now, and Sherlock you need to actually tell me when you’re delivering stock, and you also can you stop nicking equipment?” Lestrade added as he took the stock book from John.

“You’re nicking equipment? I did wonder where all of the fish mallets had gone” John grinned.

“Unspoken agreement” Sherlock replied curtly.

“Seeing as you’re here, we can run over the paperwork you kindly disregard. Office, now.” Lestrade informed as he walked away towards his office. John turned to Sherlock and smirked.

“Un-official agreement more like it, and if you’re going to nick stuff, do me the courtesy and tell us next time”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Why haven’t I seen you here before then?” John asked.

“You see but you do not observe” Sherlock drawled, rummaging around in an impressive long Belstaff coat. He retrieved a fish mallet and passed it to John. John quirked an eyebrow.

“This may stop some of Lestrade's moaning” and Sherlock left the kitchen with his coat flying, and pulled open Lestrade’s office door with a huff, like an annoyed child. John suppressed a surprised laugh. He put the mallet in the sink and grabbed his jacket from the rack. He decided to walk through the dining area, mentally making plans of where to grab a quick and cheap sandwich.

“Has Freak à la glace made a grand entrance yet?” John turned around to see a bored looking Sally Donovan organising menu’s.

“Do you mean that Sherlock guy?”

“Obviously” John shook his head.

“He’s not a freak, just, abruptly and childishly commanding”

“You’ve only just met him I assume” Sally sighed, she abandoned the menu’s and flicked through the guest list for the evenings service.

“And?”

“Stay away from him” John looked around before snorting.

“Stay away from an ice cream man?” John laughed. Sally glared at him. This was becoming a habit, people glaring at him today.

“He’s bad news”

“He sounds interesting”

“Your frosty funeral, canteen boy” suddenly Sherlock entered the dining area from the kitchen door.

“Hello Sally”

“Hello freak, contaminating the prep areas again?”

“Metaphorically or technically” Sally directed her glare to Sherlock.

“Where’s Anderson? He’s normally dropping menus and looking gormless at this time of day”

“He’s having lunch with his wife” Sally bit back. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked Sally up and down.

“Most likely to make up for your frequent tête-à-tête’s” Sherlock replied coolly.

“What the hell are you implying” Sally, clenching her fists.

“Nothing, anyway I came here to talk to John, not to deduce your personal life”

“You shouldn’t even do that in the first place, freak!” Sally shot back as she dumped the guest list and walked out of the restaurant, breathing deeply.

“Sherlock you can’t just rile Sally up like that, she will properly get out her claws” John warned.

“That was probably uncalled for”

“It was a bit not good” John replied as he folded his arms.

“I, I’ll apologize”

“You do that, and what did you want to talk to me about?” Sherlock jumped from a confused look to a look of interest.

“So you’re a Sous”

“Yeah”

“Any good?”

“Very good”

“Used to unpredictable working environments?”

“You could say that”

“Have an interest in avant-garde cooking techniques?”

“To some extent, if it works it works”

“Want to test the speed of liquid nitrogen when exposed to alcohol-soaked fruit?” John quirked an eyebrow.

“I’ve got time”

“Perfect, I’ll hail a cab” Sherlock grinned.


	3. Shoplifting at Harrods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson recently invalided back from Afghanistan resumes his culinary career at St. Bart's, an East London restaurant. But with an ice cream seller on his tails, Chef Watson might gain interest in being a chef in a busy restaurant again.

“You’ve got questions” informed Sherlock as the two of them travelled in a cab through the centre of London on the way to ‘-H2O°C’.

“Yeah, how did you know about Afghanistan?”

“I didn’t know, I just saw”

“Saw?” Sherlock turned around to look at John.

“The way you hold yourself says military, but you don’t hold yourself as if you’re waiting for battle, so you weren’t trained with the troops, you most likely unconsciously adopted it whilst over there, also Mike says you were a colleague but you didn’t really physically register it when he said it, so you had returned recently” John just blinked at him.

“Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You’ve been abroad, but not sunbathing. You also looked uncomfortable when you were in my shop the other day” John grimaced.

“You’re obviously adjusting back to civilian life as you didn’t say anything, where people would normally comment on it, but you were also intrigued and liked the ice cream”

“How did you even know that?”

“Everyone does” John snorted.

“Also your phone”

“What about my phone?” John asks as he gets it out of his pocket and passed it over to Sherlock.

“Its expensive and you’re a chef, smart phones aren’t normally first choice. There are scratches all over the case, a result of keys and utensils rolling around in your pockets. The engraving expresses three kisses, which implies romantic attachment. But you have it now, and you haven’t had enough time to even bond with a human being let alone “love” them. The model is only a few months old, marriage in trouble it looks like. He left her and gave the phone to you, trying to build a bridge between your fractious relationship.”

“And the drinking?”

“There are tiny scuff marks around the charger port, where the user tried and failed to plug the phone into charge every night, simple deduction.”

“But how did you know I worked at Bart’s?”

“Well, Mike doesn’t normally bring people with him, and he was on his lunch hour which is at awkward times due to working in a restaurant. Also I noticed a change in the chef rotation when I was over there” John shook his head and laughed.

“Bloody brilliant, that was extraordinary”

“You think so?”

“Quite extraordinary”

“That’s not what people usually say”

“What do they usually say?”

“Piss off” John’s laugh turns into a giggle, and Sherlock smiles slightly. The rest of the cab journey was continued in silence, but in a comfortable silence.

\---

Sherlock unlocked the shop and walked straight through to the back room, putting on an apron and goggles as he went.

“Where’s Molly then?” John asked as he walked through to find a larger room than the shop with a walk in freezer, and an equipped kitchen with a large metal worktop. The walls were covered in what looked like maps of paper stuck with numbers and ingredients written on them. Sherlock walked through with a vat of liquid nitrogen and started to prep his experiment.

“Day off, most likely failing at trying to appear sexual to her partner” Sherlock grumbled as he measured, John spluttered.

“So is this place really all yours?” Sherlock nodded.

“It really is all mine” Sherlock smirked. John shook his head.

“Where did you train then?”

“Le Cordon Bleu” Sherlock sighed, looking irritated. John was unsure if that was because of the experiment where some of the fruit had exploded, or his answer.

“Anywhere before this place? I wouldn’t peg you to go straight into a specialist sector” John pondered as he ate some of the fruit, whilst Sherlock glared at him.

“The Ritz if you must know, Molly too, we both coincidentally left at the same time, and I was always interested in frozen cuisine, so with some successful wheedling for funds, here we stand” Sherlock replied, looking satisfied as he put the now frozen fruit into a number of blenders. John gave Sherlock an impressed look.

“The Ritz? Makes sense I guess. But how you do know the Barts lot?”

“I have my sources” Sherlock replied as he snapped off his goggles. He shook his hair a little and seemingly unknowingly run his fingers through it. John was caught by this small silly gesture, and his eyes were transfixed. He had thought to himself that morning that Sherlock was attractive, even with the goggles. John was once referred to as ‘Three Continents Watson’ when he catered overseas and met his fair share of beautiful people, and always considered himself to be straight as a plank, with a few exceptions. He was vaguely concerned that the mysterious Sherlock was going to become one of those very few exceptions.

Sherlock appeared unaware of John’s transfiction, and dumped his apron unceremoniously on the counter.

“Thirsty? I know a nice coffee shop not to far from Barts, the food isn't half bad, and I have a certain agreement with the owner” John agreed and instead of getting a cab, the two of them walked through Regents Park.

\---

Sherlock indeed had an agreement with the owner of ‘Angelo’s Coffee Club’, as he got them a quiet window table away from the busy centre of the cafe (“A nice quiet spot for you and your date, Sherlock") and put down two unidentifiable coffee’s and a plate of sandwiches to John’s pleasure.

“Another ice cream vendor then? ” John asked as he rolled his eyes at the date comment, picking up a sandwich and eating it quickly. Sherlock didn’t touch any of the food, but looked slightly concerned at the speed in which John was eating.

“I wouldn’t trust Angelo with that task, no three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade that at the time of a food storage raid, Angelo was in a completely different part of town, shoplifting at Harrods” John snorted into his coffee.

“You seem to have some interesting relationships with people from Barts, any outside of the restaurant” John inquired as he sipped his drink. Sherlock paused, considering the question.

“Girlfriend? No thats not really my area” John hummed.

“Oh, do you have a boyfriend then? Which is fine by the way” John stammered, taking a large gulp of his drink. Sherlock lowered his cup.

“I know its fine”

“So you’ve got a boyfriend then?”

“No”

“Oh” Sherlock looked at John peculiarly. “You’re unattached like me, thats good” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and continued to drink his coffee. John cleared his throat as he felt his face get a little hot. Damn that Sherlock.

“I’m not saying I’m not...interested” Sherlock replied with a cat-like grin.

“Oh god no, no no no I wasn’t implying anything” John stammered, going redder by the minute. Sherlock blinked at him. John sighed, he had really put his foot in it.

“Which is fine by the way” Sherlock replied, with a small smile. John looked at him and laughed nervously, he felt like a teenager all over again.

“I’ve got to get back to the restaurant, be sure to come by, it’ll be on me next time” John grinned. Sherlock shook his hand and promised it was a deal, the awkwardness subsiding quickly.

“Its a deal, John Watson”.


	4. Fucking amazing food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson recently invalided back from Afghanistan resumes his culinary career at St. Bart's, an East London restaurant. But with an ice cream seller on his tails, Chef Watson might gain interest in being a chef in a busy restaurant again.

Later that evening, the dinner service was in full flow, John was delightfully busy at in the kitchens with not a minute to spare to mull over the awkward afternoon. The Bart’s lot were good workers, lacking the tight knit family vibe that the army canteens had, but a comfortable and hard working glow that John enjoyed.  
The dining area had a large buzz this evening, before service Sally had warned that a critic was supposed to dine that night, so the chefs were working at their peak to avoid any slip ups.

“Right you lot, we cannot afford another bad review this time, we’ve gotten better since in talent and our work ethic is a lot better, but we need good news tonight” Lestrade pleaded in the pre-service meeting. John has been away from Barts for a good few years, and he knew that the standard he had left had not remained when he was gone.  
John was on quality control when Sally popped her head through the door and motioned him towards her.

“Hey Sally, anything wrong?” John asked, using the time to wipe his forehead and have a drink of water.

“Holmes is here, I didn’t want to freak out the whole kitchen so you have to keep it to yourself.” Sally murmured, picking at her nail polish.

“Holmes? wow okay” John gulped, Mycroft Holmes was a legendary critic, and a review from him meant make or break.

“He’s arriving soon, so make some fucking amazing food” Sally drawled as she left the kitchen. A few chefs had watched John and Sally’s exchange, Dimmock the commis walked over.

“What was that about, chef?”

“The critic will be here soon, so make sure everyone knows to step up their act” John informed, the chefs stood around nervously, not making a move away, John sighed.

“They will just be another customer. Come on, lets cook!” the chefs looked at each other, and continued the frenzied rotation.

\---

Hours passed and it was close to closing time when Sally informed John that a customer wanted to speak to him directly. Sally lead him to a centre table that overlooked the entire dining room, a man in a 3-piece suit was sitting at the table for two rolling around a glass of red vine, with an umbrella hanging on his chair. The man looked at John and broke into a small smile.

“Have a seat, John.” The man nodded at Sally and she left quickly, joining the rest of the waiters at the front of house. John looks at the chair.

“I don’t want to sit down” John replied with firmly. The man smiled in curiosity.

“You don’t seem very afraid” The man drawled, taking a sip from his wine glass.

“You don’t appear very frightening” John replied, biting his lip.

“Ah yes, the bravery of a chef, brave enough to counter a critic, some would call it stupidity” The man replied, looking at John sternly. John blinks, unfazed.

“What is your connection with the owner of ‘-H2O°C’” the man asks, sounding each letter and number of the name. John looks at his with surprise.

“Sherlock? I just met him a few days ago...why?” John countered.

“Mmm, and in those few days you have acquired coffee and conducted food based experiments with him, are we expecting a happy announcement at the end of the week?”

“I know you’re a critic, but who are you?” John asks, sounding irritated.

“An interested party. You were the one who unknowingly prepared my dinner tonight, it was...good”

“Well that's...good” John replied, feeling lost in the conversation.

“You shouldn’t be working here” Mycroft replied simply. John laughed in surprise.

“Why not?”

“Your talent is wasted here” John shook his head in disbelief.

“If you knew how hard it was for me to get work you would be saying different”

“I do know, and I also know that a psychosomatic limp can be fixed.” The man replied, fixing his gaze on John’s. John looks down at the cane he was holding.

“What are you implying” John gritted his teeth, no longer caring that he was speaking to a critic that could ruin his career in an instant.

“Do you plan to continue your career here, running off with the ice cream man during your breaks and living out your days as a limping sous in a lowly restaurant in East London” John stared at him once again in disbelief.

“John, I am a critic, I visit various restaurants each week, and I have connections.”

“So?”

“I’m offering you the chance to interview at any restaurant you deem fit, I hear The Ritz needs a new sous”

“What do you want.” John counters, determined to get to the bottom of this.

“John, I’m offering you a position at a top restaurant in London.”

“What's the catch?”

“Well if you agree, you get a position better suited to your talents, and if you decline, I’d be willing to pay you a meaningful sum in exchange for discreet information on ‘-H2O°C’, just give me regular updates on how Sherlock is doing”

“Why?”

“I worry about him, constantly”

“You’re not an ordinary critic are you” the man chuckled.

“I suppose not, so whats your choice, and you do have a choice.”

“No” John shot back instantly.

“No?”

“To all of it. I don’t want to work at The Ritz, from what I’ve heard they lose chefs quicker than they gain them, and I’m not going to spy on someone just because you say you worry about them”

“But I haven’t even proposed a sum yet”

“Don’t bother.”

“Hmm trust issues, she must be doing something right” The man murmured.

“Sorry?”

“Your therapist, she is incompetent but she does know a few things. Well, this has been a pleasure John” John looks at him in bewilderment.

“The food was good” the man concludes, motioning for bill as he stands up and buttons his jacket “I’ll be keeping an eye on you” and he walks out of the restaurant, his umbrella swinging.

As soon as he leaves, Lestrade rushes from the kitchen and questions John.

“What was that all about?”

“I have no bloody clue” John sighed tiredly.

The next day, Mike comes into the kitchen holding a paper, and everyone quickly crowded around, listening with anxious anticipation as Mike read the review aloud.

“‘I like many other critics have dined at St. Bartholomews, expecting greatness yet receiving mediocre dishes that lack spirit and enthusiasm. But the soup was a revelation, and the lamb was even better” the chefs chattered excitedly.

“With the new sous using his battle instincts in the kitchen, the food appears to taste better, the flavours more combined and the presentation sloppy yet admirable. St Barts has finally recaptured my attention”.


End file.
